Room For Three
by Channel D
Summary: Crack!fic humor. Tim, Tony and Ziva await treatment in a busy hospital waiting room for broken bones, and they squabble. Oneshot.


**Room for Three  
**by channelD

Written for no good reason at all, other than a conversation that arose about season five (no, there are no spoilers here).

_Rating:_ T  
_Genre:_ Crack!fic. You don't really believe this could happen, do you?  
_Characters:_ Tim, Ziva and Tony  
_Setting_: late November 2007, Washington

- - - - -

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing of NCIS, sigh.

- - - - -

The emergency room at the hospital near the Navy Yard was busy beyond belief that Saturday night, as were all other hospitals in the District. Someone swore that a tornado had considered hitting Washington, then saw how overextended the hospitals were and went away, shaking its cloudy head. _Newark_, on the other hand, was ripe for the taking.

"Oh, nurrrrrsssssse…."

"Yes, Agent Di Nozzo?"

From the gurney on which he lay, he winked at her, despite the pain in his face. "Hellllloooooo, Nurse!" he cooed. When she only looked puzzled, he said, "_Animaniacs_? Cartoon show from the mid -1990s?...oh, never mind." His arm hurt. He hurt in most places, in fact, but the broken left arm was the most annoying. And the surgery he was scheduled to have in the morning…what a way to start a Sunday that should have been devoted to serious football-watching, beer drinking, and general couch potato'ing.

"Tony, leave her alone." That annoyed groan came from Tim on another gurney, who was feeling very grouchy due to his fractured leg. He, too, was scheduled for surgery in the morning.

"Hush, McGee. And learn to take your pain like a man, like I do." Ziva was on a gurney parked between Tony's and Tim's. She wasn't altogether positive it was a real gurney; it was so hard that she swore it was a kitchen table on wheels, with a thin futon, maybe just a puffy tablecloth, on top. That her sensitive nose detected years of not-quite-scrubbed-off spaghetti spills confirmed her fears. She had sustained a broken collarbone that was extremely displaced, and she would need—

(Here Ziva turns toward the reader, but is really addressing the narrator.) "Surgery in the morning. I know, I know. Now will you please get on with the story?"

Okay, okay. Now what brought them all to the hospital—

"Ambulances," Ziva groans.

Listen; would _you_ rather tell this story?

"No, go ahead. But I am watching you," she says, before lying back down and trying to get comfortable. She was sure there was a place setting hidden under the futon.

Now what brought them to the hospital was a case gone wrong. If cases went _right_, there'd be no need for a story. In this one, pursuit of a sailor suspected of a convenience store holdup turned bad when the three agents ran into a mob of drunken midshipmen and cadets ready to cheer or cry the outcome of this weekend's Army-Navy football game. Trying to restore order without using unnecessary force on the students, the agents took a beating, to their bodies and to their pride.

All this while the District went through fog, a windstorm, a brief blizzard, hail, a sandstorm, those tornado clouds that didn't touch down, a seismic disturbance that might have been a teensy earthquake, a passing plague of locusts, seven flocks of Canada geese, twelve traffic pileups, and 1,140 people declaring themselves seriously distraught when the local channel preempted the national ice dancing coverage in favor of a repeat of a lesser-lesser-lesser-known version of _A Christmas Carol_ with an all-dog cast. Injuries abounded everywhere. Minor problems like broken bones sustained in the line of duty were almost cast aside in favor of the day's exotica.

(Again Ziva looks through the fourth wall. )"Excuse me?"

Yes?

"If you have any influence here, could you please get me a room? I have been waiting here for over three hours. You should be doing something about that."

Well, uh, I don't know…I never…

"They have not taken all of my weapons. I still have two knives, hidden."

O—Okay. Just be patient. I'll be right back.

(scene changes to office of harried hospital administrator)

Sir? We need rooms for injured special agents.

"Who said that?" The administrator on duty pushed his glasses up his nose.

I did. Sorry; you can't see me. I'm the narrator of this story.

"I'm not in a story. I didn't agree to that. Get out!"

But they're _special agents!_

"I don't care if they're the finalists on _Belching with the Stars!_ Do I have to call Security?!"

No, sorry to have bothered you… (mutters ) Mom always said I'd regret this line of work.

(scene changes back to the ER)

At this point, Tony and Tim were moaning indistinct moans…sometimes in unison, sometimes in harmony. Ziva—

"Yes? You are back. So where is an orderly to take me to my room?"

Um, about that…

Tony stopped moaning. "Zee-vah…who are you talking to?"

"Ah…a voice."

"You're hearing voices?"

"Ah…"

"Nurrrrrssssse!"

The nurse trotted back in. "Yes, Agent Di Nozzo?"

"My teammate here needs to be placed in a room so she can get some rest. She's hearing voices!"

"Voices?"

"Well…" Ziva hedged.

Tim stopped moaning, finally realizing that he'd lost his duet partner. "Ziva? What did the voice say to you?"

Why haven't you burned that sweater yet?

" 'Why have you not burned that sweater'—NO! I _like_ that sweater!"

"See what I mean, nurse?" Tony whispered. "She's in a bad, bad way."

He was to her good side, the side away from the break in her collarbone, so moving that arm wasn't as painful. She hit him.

- - - - -

A doctor came up to them shortly thereafter. "Agent Di Nozzo, Agent McGee, Officer David?" A weak chorus of assents greeted him. "We have a slight problem." The chorus turned to groans.

"We have a shortage of rooms. There is only one free now, and I don't know when another one will be free. All of you need rest, and you work together so you must get along, so I'm proposing, uh…"

They stared at him.

"Uh…thatweputyouallinoneroom," he said in a rush.

"Share a room with _HIM_???" Tony and Tim jerked a thumb at each other; Ziva pointed to both of her teammates. "Over my dead body!"

- - - - -

And so it was that within 20 minutes, the three agents were parked, a bit tightly, in room 314.

"This will save Gibbs visiting time," Tim remarked.

"Shut up, Optimistic Boy!" Tony snapped.

"But it will. And that will put him in a better mood."

"Better mood than _what_? Have you even _seen_ him since we got to the ER?"

"I'm sure he's busy, or something. Stop fiddling with your call button and leave that poor nurse alone."

Tony ignored the latter part. "McGeek, you are so naïve. Gibbs must be _celebrating_ having us out of his hair for a couple days!"

Tim frowned, not liking being called _naïve_. "He'll be here," he insisted.

"Will both of you _be quiet?_ I can not sleep!" Ziva shrieked.

Your sweater is giving you nightmares; I can tell.

"I _like_ that sweater!_"_

"_Nurse!!!"_

"_That's it!"_ Tim said, pushing himself up on his good leg, grimacing.

"McGee! You should be lying down!" said Ziva.

"_I'm going to smother him with my pillow, I really am!"_

"You have a _pillow_??" Ziva said, with envy. "They gave me a mail sack stuffed with undeliverable mail!"

"Lie back down, Probie!" Tony ordered, but it was too late. With a roar, Tim had launched himself on his one good leg onto Tony's bed, inches away. He landed with a thump on Tony, screaming because of his leg pain while Tony screamed because of his arm pain.

"_Be quiet be quiet be quiet!"_ Ziva shrieked.

(Once again she turns toward the audience.)

"_I. Am. Not. SHRIEKING!!"_

"_SILENCE_! They can hear you all the way back at _NCIS_!!"

They did fall silent, seeing Gibbs now, who'd entered with the nurse.

Gibbs continued. "Since you're all having surgery in the morning, I'd think you'd be wanting to get some sleep! McGee, get back in your bed! Di Nozzo, put down that lamp! Ziva, what are you doing with undeliverable mail??"

They all pointed fingers at the others and resumed squabbling.

The nurse threw up their hands and then flicked the lights on and off. "Shut up NOW or I'll see that you have no anesthesia for your operations!" Not cowed, they started arguing with _her_.

(Gibbs turns and faces the audience.)

"See what I have to put up with on a daily basis?"

I don't envy you your job, Gibbs.

"I'm definitely not paid enough for this."

"I just want a real pillow…and a real bed…and real sheets instead of a shower curtain liner," Ziva moaned.

"Goodnight," Gibbs said, having had enough. "Hey, you. You want to come out for a drink with me?"

Oh, yeah! Just let me get my coat!

- END -


End file.
